Leaving Home
by shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod
Summary: Tag to 12x18, could be continued. The night is going as well as it can be, considering the brothers literally just fought a god and came out slightly hurt, but on top. But, as usual, the peace doesn't last long when Dean notices a photo missing from his drawer…and Sam would never take it.


**This is basically a scene filler/ending continuation for 12x18, so be warned, there are some spoilers! I do not like the BMOL in the Bunker. At. All. This is one way that the situation could play out, but we'll have to wait another few weeks to see.**

 **Don't own Supernatural.**

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They sit at the table for about ten or so more minutes, until Sam finishes his beer. There's the casual bantering back and forth, some talk about the blonde waitress, some talk about the goat-man, and some talk about things in general. Dean can tell that Sam's getting tired when he starts responding with just nods and half laughs rather than snarky comments.

"Why don't you head on up to bed," Dean instructs, motioning towards his brother with his beer bottle.

"Perfectly fine-" Sam's sentence is cut off by a yawn at that moment and Dean just smirks at him and shakes his head.

"Come on, man, you've been up late researching the past few nights. We literally fought a god, get some shuteye," Dean presses again.

Sam huffs a bit and looks back at him, rolling the end of his empty bottle along the wood table. "And you?" It's no secret that his brother got dropped down a flight of stairs, kidnapped, shoved in a freezer, and practically dropped on his head again.

Dean shrugs and taps the bottle. "Gonna see if some more can help with the headache." He brushes off Sam's slightly worried look a second later. "I'll be in in a few, quit your worrying."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam mutters, but there's a smirk on his face as he stands up, taking his bottle with him. "Don't stay up too late."

"Rich coming from you!" Dean calls back as Sam disappears down the hallway, leaving him in silence.

Dean finishes the first beer and grabs a second from the fridge before sitting back down at the table with a demon book. The nice little bump from goat-dude has turned into a rather not so nice headache, so trying to sleep wouldn't do much good anyways. Instead, he buries his head in a book and tries to see if there's anything on Dagon that Sam may have missed.

Of course, that only lasts until about two in the morning, when his eyes can't focus on the jumbled letters any more and there are two empty bottles at his side. With a huff, Dean closes the book and slides it over by the lamp before standing up.

He pauses with his hand outstretched a moment, about to turn off the lamp, casting another glance at the new scratches in the table. Sure, the bunker will never be their _home_ home, Baby will always have that title, but in the past four years it's done its job. Dean smirks at the scratches and how much they encompass and turns off the light.

Sam's door is cracked open when he quietly pads by, and a quick peek inside reveals his brother asleep in the dark room. Dean nods to himself and continues to his own quarters, where he leaves the door cracked behind himself as well. After a quick change into more comfortable sleeping clothes (they use sleeping clothes now, which Dean's found he's a bit fond of), he finds himself sitting on the edge of his bed still thinking absentmindedly at some stupid knife marks in a table.

With a shrug, he opens the drawer under his nightstand to reveal his trusty pistol and the group of photos that he always has close at hand. Dean shifts the gun over and pulls out the photos, smiling a bit at the memories that they encompass. Dad, Sam, Bobby, himself, they're all frozen in time in the images. But…

Dean pauses before he can even realize it. The picture he kept closest to him isn't in the small stack. He flips through again, because of course he must have missed it, he has a headache and it's technically tomorrow. Dean scowls, realizing that no, he didn't miss it and no, it isn't in the drawer.

In an instant he's up, checking the desk where he may have left it and the floor, where it may have fallen. Both turn up as big no's. The picture's missing, and he didn't misplace it, he would never misplace something that important. Sam also knows how much the picture means to his brother, so he would never touch it without Dean knowing.

Dean stalks back to the nightstand and picks up the pistol before moving back to the common area, his senses alert for an intruder. He's pretty sure he's not imagining things, but just to be safe…He checks the library again, and nothing there has been touched. The story is the same with the map room. All the little colored circles and papers are exactly the same.

He runs his hand absentmindedly under the table, checking for the gun that he so diligently cleaned and replaced before leaving. Before hitting the gun, however, his hands brush across something foreign that was definitely not there before. Dean feels it for a moment with his fingers before pulling at it. It takes a small bit of strength to pry the thing off, but when Dean's got a good look at it, it's pretty obvious what it is.

A mini microphone was hiding under the map room table. Dean turns it over and over in his fingers before almost crushing the thing upon realization.

Ketch and Mick had both been to the bunker. They knew where it was and probably had a key. Their "orders" were sent by the Brits, they left the bunker, and come back to it being bugged. Dean shakes his head angrily, half wishing the damn microphone had a camera so whoever's sitting on the other end could see just how pissed he is.

Dean leaves the microphone on the table, not destroying it in case there's some…tampering alert that the Brits put in, and jogs down the hall, tapping on Sam's door as he does. The response is immediate, as Dean would expect, so he flicks on the lights before Sam shoots him.

He resists the urge to chuckle at Sam's amazing bed head, and instead gets right down to business. "We've gotta go," he says quickly, but in a hushed tone.

Still a good deal asleep, Sam shakes his head and drops the weapon. "Dean? It's…" he checks the clock, "almost three. What the hell, man?"

Dean puts a finger to his lips, motioning for Sam to keep it down. "Found a bug our British buddies left behind. Don't know if there are any more, but we need to go."

That sentence gets Sam up and moving, swinging his feet out from the bed. "How did you find it?" he asks, his tone much quieter

"Missing picture in my drawer, which is super creepy, might I add. Did some recon, found a mic. So come on, pack up what you need, we're hitting the road for a few days."

Sam is immediately nodding along, tossing the gun onto the bed before moving to grab his duffle. Dean follows suit, returning to his own room and getting out of his sleep clothes. He stuffs an extra pair of clothes into his duffle and fills it up with the usual things. This time, however, he takes the pictures with him.

It's bad enough that the Brits were in their home when they were on a case that they got led to. But stealing family pictures? That was where Dean drew the line.

He meets Sam outside their rooms a few minutes later and points to the map table, where the bug is. Sam nods in response and the two of them quietly head out towards the garage.

Less than ten minutes after the bug is discovered, Sam and Dean are two miles down the road, figuring out what their next move should be.

* * *

The next morning, Ketch settled into his office and opened the computer, expecting some type of chatter over the newly installed Winchester-watcher device. He didn't exactly expect to hear normal breakfast sounds, but he certainly expected more than the silence he got on the other end of the line.

The silence persisted all day, and tests showed that it was not a device or a signal problem. Twenty-four hours later, and there was still not a peep from the device. Ketch chalked it up to the brothers being on another case.

However, more days passed and still nothing. On day three of listening to silence, Ketch angrily turned off his end of the device, shaking his head in frustration. "Damn it," he cursed under his breath. He certainly expected it to last more than the few hours it had gotten. Perhaps the Winchesters were more keen to their surroundings than he cared to admit…

Still, it meant that they weren't holed up in their bunker, so they were out on the road in their flashy, black machine. A car like that, Ketch could track. He smirked to himself and began pulling up surveillance feeds all over the area, looking for a speeding black Impala around the time of the silence. He would get his job done one way or another. The Winchesters couldn't stay hidden forever.

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 **I wouldn't be opposed to continuing this for a bit, it just depends on if people are interested or not. Thanks for reading! :)**

 **Also, totally unrelated, but did everyone like the table initials scene as much as I did?**


End file.
